


Abandoned Dreams

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:23:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4206075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WIPs that I have no intention of finishing right now. These could be potentially finished, someday. Probably not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abandoned Dreams

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Clint groaned as he reached over in the hotel's bed to slap at the alarm clock. His hand met something else, something squishy and cool, and oh shit, that was Loki wasn't it? "Clint Barton, consider yourself lucky that I knew that was an accident.” Loki’s calm voice greeted him, though Clint knew he just barely missed getting greeted by the demigod’s fist. He grinned sheepishly as he turned to face Loki, who was busy glaring at him. “Sorry. Was aiming for the alarm.” He moved closer and grumbled softly as Loki’s ever cold arms wrap around him. “You’re far better at long range, dear.” The endearment came out with a hint of venom.

* * *

Charles collects people. He stows their minds away inside his own, letting them grow even as he tries to keep them as they originally were. He keeps them filed away in his own imaginary world, for the purpose of seeing the influence he's had on their lives. He sees them young and innocent, then older and harder. The line of innocence blurs, and he wonders if he can ever help them get back.

There's one corner of his mind that he dare not sneak into, even when he bores of the words the doctors repeat to him. In there, is Erik. It's a single memory, but it shaped the entire outline of how Charles remembers this version.

A tear goes down both their cheeks in tandem, a look of heartbreak and courage greets him as he finally summons the willpower to open his eyes and look at his dearest friend.

He wonders if it truly was he that helped shape Erik into who he is now.

They're both the same. Foolish men trying to change the world to their ideals. The only difference is that there's too much history to let them work together.

He wants to go back and take Erik with him. _Always the petulant child_ , he chides himself. He knows he can't. It really could not have turned out any other way.

He'll have to content himself to visiting Erik in his plastic prison, of sharing thoughts and dreams that never could have been as they play chess.

 _Oh my friend,_ He thinks as he takes another pawn. _It has been too long since we have done this._

Erik's smile is bittersweet but he sends along, _Who said we ever stopped this?_

It makes sense to Charles. That's all they'd actually done. That's all they'd really done over the years. Every time they sent out their teams, they were continuing a ongoing game of chess that had started only months after Cuba. Each time one of them ended up in the newspaper was their way of saying "Your move."

(Speaking of Cuba, Charles remembers the grief that had come over Erik's face when he first saw the wheelchair. _It's not your fault._ Charles sent quickly. But Erik had been wearing that damned helmet and both of them knew the thought wouldn't have helped anyways.)

* * *

It was around eight in the morning when Clint's pager went off. He groaned and rolled away from it, not wanting to get up yet.

"I swear to god, if this isn't serious, I'm not getting up." He grumbled, snuggling more into his blankets. "Police need to get better at dealing with these things."

Five blissful minutes of quiet passed.

"Agent Barton, sir, Agent Romanov has instructed me to inform you that if you're not up in ten minutes, then she'll make you regret it." The computer's voice calmly stated this. "She's on her way to your room now."

Clint grimaced. This wasn't the first time he'd incurred her wrath this way and he definitely didn't want it to happen again. "Fine, fine. I'll get up." He shuddered as he got out of bed, not liking how cold it was outside of his blankets. He skipped showering and shaving, just brushing his teeth quickly before getting changed.

The door opened quietly and he looked up to see Nat watching him.

"Too bad you're up; I was looking forward to getting a warmup by getting you out of bed." She commented, shifting her weight onto her right foot.

"This isn't how best friends normally treat each other, is it?" He asked as he pulled on his boots, grinning up at her.

She shrugged. "Since when has anything about us been normal?" She retorted. "Hurry up. Civilians don't know how to protect themselves."

"If they did, we'd have a lot less problems." He muttered as he grabbed his bow and quiver. "Which baddie of the week is attacking this time?" They marched out the room and down the hallway to the elevator.

* * *

"I have something for you." Clint whispered in his ear, pressing his warm body to Loki's. The Jotun smiled, tilting his head to press his lover's face to his head. Loki was a greedy creature, and he craved the warmth.

"Does it require me to get out of bed?" He muttered, turning to face the archer. Green eyes opened lazily to take in the sight of tanned skin above him.

"Nah. Might need you to sit up though." Clint grinned, pressing a quick kiss to Loki's temple. The jotun groaned, his nose scrunching as he contemplated it. "Oh, come on. Gimme just a minute and then you can lay back down and be a lazy ass some more."

* * *

"If you would let me, I would make you immortal." The words chased Clint all day. Not a moment went by without him thinking about spending eternity with the god of lies.

They'd been in bed, Clint's body half on top of Loki's, his nose pressed to the crook of the Jotun's neck. Chilled fingertips traced up his bare back, and he named the vertebrae in his mind as the fingers passed over them (L1, T12, T11, T10... All the way up to C3 before trailing back down again). One of his arms lay at his side, the other bent for his fingertips to reach into Loki's silk-like hair. Barton shifted closer, his dry lips pressing a chaste kiss to the base of Loki's neck.

"G'night." He muttered as Loki's hand went up his spine and into his short hair.

"Good night, Clint." Loki returned the gesture, nuzzling the top of Clint's head as his lips grazed his hairline. Clint let out a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut. Loki's hand stilled on the middle of Clint's back.

He whispered the words directly into Clint's ear, causing Clint to tense up on him and his breath to halt. The words had caught him off guard.

When they were just starting their relationship they had talked about the archer's aging and eventual death. Clint hadn't seen it becoming that much of an issue; it was more likely that he was going to die on a mission than from old age. While Loki disliked the thought, he agreed that a warrior's death would suit Clint. Loki hadn't mentioned making Clint an immortal, causing Clint to believe that their relationship was very serious now.

He mused over the idea before succumbing to sleep. The next day, they carried on as if the words hasn't been said. They got dressed and ate together, sticking to their regular morning schedule. Soon, Natasha was at the door reminding Clint that they had to be on a jet to Chile in half an hour.

"I'll be back in a couple of weeks." He promised Loki as Natasha waited at the door. They kissed briefly before the archer walked off with his best friend. Over the flight, he didn't listen to the debriefing. He focused on the Loki's words, tearing them apart, putting them back together, trying to figure out his own feelings towards the confession.

When the debriefing ended, Nat turned to him. "What's wrong?" She asked quietly. "You were more zoned out than normal."

Clint was glad for her discretion. "Tasha, what's immortality like?"

Her face blanked as Clint watched the gears in her head turn. "It's lonely and hard. You know that everyone you care for will die, that you'll outlive anyone that you encounter." She paused, taking in a breath. "There are good times where you get to slowly watch the world change... But then you realize that everything follows a pattern and while the details change, the general picture stays the same."

Clint nodded. "Loki said he'd make me immortal last night."

A silence passed over them. He could feel his friend retreating into her shell, the coldness she exuded raising goosebumps on his uncovered arms. "Tasha, I'm thinking about it. It doesn't mean I'm going to." He knew how sensitive the issue was, how she'd hated that she hadn't gotten to decide this for herself.

Natasha gave an abortive nod. "Think carefully about it." He reached over and gently squeezed her hand. A promise and reassurance that he would.

They strapped themselves in and relaxed for the rest of the nine hour flight. Clint leaned against Tasha and slept while she read whatever book she'd brought for the trip. Their mission was simple. Take care of the target and leave. Either one of them could've done it on their own, but since SHIELD had been worried that other parties may be watching, they were accompanied by five other agents.

As it turns out, SHIELD was right. A week later, they straggled back to a SHIELD jet with three agents instead of five. A full medical team was on board. Natasha had a broken wrist and several lacerations. Clint ended up with two cracked ribs and a bullet in his left arm. There were heavy bags under their eyes and their movements were sluggish. Clint didn't resist medical attention for the first time in almost a year. The pair lay on the beds provided on the jet and rested. Clint wondered aloud that if he slept enough if he wouldn't have to do paperwork, Natasha muttered something unintelligible right afterwards. Clint couldn't remember what he was going to say, exhaustion and drugs finally working their way into his system and making him pass out.

When he next awoke, they were landing at the SHIELD base, with the intent of sending the team into medical for at least a couple of days. Back to his usual self, Clint said no and left, begrudgingly stopping to take the paperwork that had been shoved at him on his way out of the jet.

"See you later, Nat!" He croaked as he left, his voice still rough from sleep. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Loki's cell. It rang until the machine picked it up, as always. "Hey Lok, we just got back. Come pick me up soon or I'll go crawling through the air vents again." He paused. "They're not putting me on any missions for at least a month. Apparently it takes a long time for cracked ribs to heal. Wanna go on a vacation or something?" He shifted his weight slightly and winced. "Hurry up." He hung up, shoving the phone in his jacket pocket as he moved back to the SHIELD building.

He waited in the air-conditioned lobby-like area at the front of the building. It was quiet and clean and Clint was left undisturbed as he folded the paperwork into airplanes and let them soar around the room, retrieved them (not without grimacing and his breath hitching every time he bent down to grab paper), and let them fly again.

"Hill wouldn't be happy if she saw you doing that." He heard Loki's bemusement as the demigod approached him.

"They always make extra copies for me, Lo. They learned from the time I sent some off of the helicarrier and into the ocean." He threw another plane, angling so it'd loop in the air. "I think it was ten pages... Possibly twelve." He grinned up at Loki. "Good timing, by the way; I was getting ready to get in the vents."

Loki couldn't help but laugh. "You would've had to find your own way back to the apartment then, since I would not bother looking for you." He began picking up the papers, as to prevent Clint from doing so himself.

"Rude. And here I thought you cared." Clint sighed theatrically. He still went after some of the papers, trying his best to not let the pain show. Of course, there was no lying to the god of lies, and Clint knew better than to hope that Loki wouldn't mention it, but if there was one thing that Clint was, it was stubborn.

"Why do you never let them give you medical care, Clint?" Loki asked as he summoned the rest of the papers of the floor to and into his hands. "Or at least stop putting your injuries under duress? It isn't good."

"Easy for you to say -- you have magic to heal you." Clint huffed as he stood back up, his nose scrunching from the pain in his chest. "And I don't want to." He shrugged. It was as simple as that. Well, not really. Admitting to being injured and needing to rest meant admitting to weakness. It was much easier for him to deny the pain than to admit that he needed help. He took the papers back from Loki and headed outside, Loki trailing after him.

"You mentioned a vacation?" Loki asked. He knew it was better than to prod at his lover. At least he was planning on taking time off this time. "I think it sounds nice."

* * *

One had never expected to die, the other knew it'd always be a constant lurker behind him, waiting for him to slip up.

Both were killed as prisoners: Clint had been captured by Hydra. They broke his bow right before they shot him execution-style. Loki had been imprisoned for his crimes, his body writhing in pain as snake venom dripped onto him as Sigyn turned to empty the bowl she was using to protect him. His body was wracked with convulsions that only grew worse as more poison hit his body. As Sigyn was turning to empty the bowl once more, she heard a sharp snap sound and turned to see her husband lying still, his head resting on his shoulder as bone threatened to poke through the skin. She wept as she returned to Asgard, begging Odin Allfather to release her love's body. He allowed her to do so, but refused to let Loki have a proper funeral. Both are left to rot far from civilization. After ten years of searching Clint, his fellow SHIELD agents gave up.


End file.
